Something Real (38 page)

“Oh—okay.”

“Mommy! Lark™ ripped my book!”

Jasmine™’s lip is trembling, but my little nine-year-old brother from India shoves her aside. “I didn’t do it on purpose,” he says.

“Liar! Mom, he—”

Mom puts her hands to her eyes and groans. I know they’ll keep this bit in. She looks every bit the RealMom™ the MetaReel PR machine says she is. She’s even wearing her “Mom x 13” shirt that a fan sent her last week.

“You wanna…?” Benny nods his head toward the stairs, and I follow him as surreptitiously as possible.

I only need a few minutes to pack, so I spend the rest of my time texting Patrick. Our separation over Christmas break is finally over, and we’re both pissed about the next few days we’ll be apart. Finally, everyone gets corralled into the big black vans with tinted windows that we have to use whenever we go out as a family. I’m squished in the back of one with Lexie™ and Daisy™. It takes us half an hour to get through the McDonald’s drive-thru, and Daisy™ throws a fit because they forgot to put her Happy Meal toy in the box.

Things don’t settle down until each kid has some technology in their hands. I text with Patrick and listen to my iPod. Lex does the same, though I don’t know who she’s texting. The smile on her face tells me it’s a boy—I hope MetaReel doesn’t find out about him. We get to LA around ten, and Chuck, Sandra, and Lacey Production Assistant go around with clipboards and door keys. The nannies are in the rooms with the little ones, Mom and Kirk have their own suite, and I share a room with Lex and Farrow™. I fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow, exhausted from the combined stress of the phone call to the lawyer and getting to LA with my family and its entourage. At four A.M. the phone rings: our wake-up call.

*   *   *

“Hello, everyone! Thank you, thank you!” On the greenroom monitor, Kaye Gibbons waits for the frenzied clapping to calm down. The audience is full of middle-aged women who adore her.

“M&M’s?”

Benny offers me the bowl that’s in the greenroom, but I shake my head. I’m too nervous; just the thought of eating turns my stomach. We’ve already done a spot for a local news station and a couple interviews for magazines, but Kaye’s hour-long special is in its own stratosphere of media misery.

“It’s gonna be fine,” he says. “She was always pretty nice, right?”

Visions of my birthday gift of “triplets” dance in my head. “She likes surprises.”

“
Late Night with Jimmy Kimmel
will be cool,” says Lex.

I roll my eyes. “You just want to meet Brad Pitt.” LPA (Lacey Production Assistant) had told us he was going to be the other guest on the show.

She looks at her feet, admiring her new heels. “Yeah. So?”

Sandra’s put Lexie™ in a dress that ends a few inches from her ass. The fact that a producer, not Lex, chose the dress makes me more certain my sister’s the way she is because that’s the box MetaReel has decided to put her in. She’s the “sexy” one. Just like Farrow™ and Riley™ are the bookworms and Tristan™ is the jock. I try to think back to when we were really young. Was she always in skintight clothing? But if everyone in my family has a label, what’s mine? I don’t think I want to know. Or maybe the problem is that I don’t have one, so now I’m just “the difficult one.”

A production guy wearing all black and an official-looking badge opens the greenroom door. “Hey, Baker kids. We’re going to have you out in a few minutes. Ready?”

“Yes!” says Jasmine™.

The rest of us have the sense to exhibit a little stage fright. I watch the screen in the greenroom. Kaye is giving my mom and Kirk big hugs, and after fifteen minutes and two commercial breaks, Mom’s already dabbing her eyes. I don’t know how Kaye does it.

“Damn, she’s good,” mutters Benny.

“I know it.”

Every now and then, Kaye introduces a video from some season of our lives, a montage no doubt put together by MetaReel. I know there’s footage they’re probably going to use—the 911 transcript, me being rushed to the hospital. I go over and over what I’ll say in my head if she asks me any questions about that. For luck, I look at Patrick’s text from this morning.

They don’t own you, just remember that. Also, I love you.

“Okay, everyone, it’s time!”

I take a swig of water and swish it around in my mouth, but I can’t make the dryness go away. We follow the intern down a long hallway covered with posters of Kaye Gibbons, inmates on their way to their executions. The heels Sandra insisted I wear are pinching my feet, and I’m half worried I’m going to fall flat on my face when I enter the studio.

I can hear Kaye’s voice from the wings. “Well, let’s see the rest of the family, shall we?”

Cue applause. We walk out according to height, like the freaking Trapp Family Singers. All we need are matching outfits made from curtains and a rendition of “My Favorite Things.” The lights blind me for a second, but even after my eyes adjust, I try to make them glaze over the audience. The lighting over them is dim, but I can still see individual faces. Why do they care about us? I catch sight of a glittered sign that reads: BONNIE WILL YOU MARRY ME?

Lex sees it too. “Psycho,” she mutters.

My lips turn up a little. Ever since the night of gift-wrapping, something in my relationship with my sister has shifted. I think she’s finally realized that I am more than happy to give her the spotlight. But it’s deeper than that—sometime between the tabloid going after me and Mom reading my diary, Lex and I realized we were on the same team.

Once we’re onstage, we perch on the couches and stools just like we’d practiced before the taping started. The kids are really antsy—a well-meaning intern treated us all to doughnuts about an hour ago. Mom has a blowout and is wearing about a pound of makeup. Kirk is all buttoned up, looking pleased with himself. They make me sick.

“Well, aren’t you all grown up?” Kaye says in her plastic voice.

Her too-bright turquoise suit, blond bob, and red lipstick match her personality perfectly. No assembly required—batteries not included. I had really hoped to never see her again.

She does a little back-and-forth with us, and though she tries to draw me out, I don’t play along. Neither does Benny. Lex is beautiful and shimmers and is more than willing to take on the extra work. After another commercial break, the screen behind Kaye lights up.

“So,” she begins, turning to my siblings and me, “you’ve all got a ton of fans around the country, and boy, do they have lots of questions for you! Are you ready?”

“Yes!” shouts Daisy™. The audience laughs, and she beams.

Videos of kids pop up on the screen asking questions to each of us specifically. Some are silly, like “What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream?” and others more in-depth, like Benny’s “What are your plans after you graduate?” I’m wondering why in the world these people wasted their time uploading the videos, but as soon as I think this, I know the answer: a few seconds of fame. I’d be happy to redistribute mine—I’m totally communist when it comes to fame.

I’m sitting here on the
Kaye Gibbons Show
, and all I can think is that the whole country is sick. Sick with this idea that it’s good to be known and seen by as many people as possible, to show every part of our lives to the public at large. Whether it’s Facebook photos, blogs, or reality TV, it’s like nobody is content to just live life. The worth of our existence seems to be measured in pixels and megabytes and “likes.” Those of us whose lives can be downloaded seem to have the most value—until someone more outrageous comes along to claim their time in the spotlight.

“The next question is for Bonnie™.”

I swallow and look at the screen as it starts playing a video of a boy around my age with bad skin and a mop of blond hair.

“Hi, Bonnie™. My name is Brent Livingston from Springfield, Massachusetts, and my question for you is: What is your idea of a perfect date, and will you go on it with me?”

The audience cracks up, and I grip the couch, too embarrassed for myself—and Brent Livingston—to bother faking a smile.

“Um.” I look at my mom, but she just smiles. Either she doesn’t realize I desperately need to be bailed out, or she doesn’t care. Probably the latter.

“Don’t be shy, Bonnie™,” says Kaye.

“My idea of a perfect date…” I think of Patrick kissing me while wearing goofy glasses at the dollar store. “… is being with someone you love. Um. Because no matter what you do, it’s perfect. And, no, I can’t go out with you. But good luck.”

Kaye smiles at me, and a more recent tabloid photo of Patrick and me holding hands in the school parking lot comes up.

“So, is this your perfect date, Bonnie™?”

Damn. It’s one thing to tell a boy you love him and quite another to announce it on national television.

I look at the picture. I imagine Patrick watching. I hope I’m making the right decision.

“Yes.”

“Look at Bonnie™ Baker, she’s a woman now!” Kaye says to the audience. There are a few whistles and some scattered applause from the audience.

My face is on fire.

“What about you, Benton™? Any special girl in your life?”

Benny blanches. “No,” he says.

Kaye gives him a shrewd look. “What about a special guy?”

Either Kaye Gibbons has magnificent gaydar, or someone, somewhere, told her about Benny.

“Kaye, that’s none of your business,” I snap. She ignores me, her eyes on Benny.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lex grab Benny’s hand. She looks terrified for him. You know it’s bad when Lex wants less attention on our family.

I glare at Mom—
fucking DO something!
She gives me her helpless what-can-I-do look. Kirk coughs uncomfortably, but otherwise, the studio is totally silent. It feels like the whole world must be waiting for his answer. I imagine businessmen stopping mid-sentence, drive-thru workers freezing, bags of food clutched in their hands. Children at recess stop playing, and everyone at Taft stands still in the halls and classrooms. And where is Matt? I picture him sitting at his desk, his letterman jacket draped over his chair. Waiting.

“I agree with my sister that it’s none of your business. But I’m gay, if that’s what you’re asking.”

The audience inhales in a collective gasp. TV gold. Kaye’s eyes widen—she can’t believe her luck. She turns to the camera and does her serious voice, her eyes full of fake empathy.

“We’ll be right back.”

SEASON 17, EPISODE 26

(The One with the Red Shirt)

My phone rings as soon as Kaye’s closing credits are playing all across America. Lunch just ended at Taft, and gov is about to start. The taping was live, and I know Patrick, Tess, Mer, and Matt were watching it on their phones. I hurry to the greenroom and find a corner to hide in.

“One,” Patrick says, as soon as I answer, “I’m going to
kill
Brent Livingston. And two, ask Benny if Matt needs any help. I don’t have his number, and he’s MIA.”

The rest of our time in LA is a blur of interviews on and off camera, book signings, and appearances. Benny’s half catatonic for much of it and spends his spare time on the roof of the hotel, going through two packs of cigarettes as he and Matt shout and cry and whisper to each other across the miles. Tessa and Mer (who are surprised about Benny, but take it in stride) and Patrick keep us updated on how people at Taft are taking it all. It’s not long before everyone puts two and two together. Why else would a couple of gorgeous guys—one of them on the varsity football team—be single? Apparently Matt was absent the rest of the week, and his parents were trying to get him to talk to one of those fundamentalist counselors who try to cure you of your gayness.

Mom only tries to talk to Benny once after the
Kaye Gibbons Show
:

Mom:
Benny. Honey. Talk to me.

Benny:
Go away, Mom.

Mom:
Please, let me help. What can I do to help?

Benny:
(glaring with red-rimmed eyes)
I don’t want to talk to you
.

Mom:
Don’t shut me out.

Benny:

Mom:
I’m making an appointment with the school counselor. If you won’t talk to me, you have to talk to somebody.

My brother is not ashamed of being gay. He just never made a thing of it because he didn’t want to attract more attention than was absolutely necessary. He and Matt took a chance on each other, and they’ve been together for a year and a half—I’ve even heard them talk about getting married someday. Their plan had been to come out to their friends and Matt’s family this summer, after graduation. They’ve been saving up money to go to Paris before college—the same college, whatever they both get into.

“Man, Chloe. I don’t know what I’m gonna do.”

Benny’s sitting on the floor of his bedroom, his head in his hands. We just got home an hour ago, and it’s Friday night. Normally he’d be out with Matt, but that was obviously not happening.